Silver flashed through the carnage.
Reynold was in motion, threading through the ruinous airspace of the fragmented realm, an eternal sky fractured by violence.
Suspended landmasses, remnants of cities long devoured by the abyss, hung like shattered memories, their edges crumbling under the weight of the unspoken.
The monstrosities slithered, crawled, and soared through this aerial graveyard, misshapen echoes of something ancient and wrong, their bodies a blasphemy of sinew, bone, and tendrils that glistened with otherworldly sheen.
They hunted together, swarmed like an orchestrated plague, driven not by instinct, but hunger of a deeper sort, primal, unrelenting.
Reynold moved as if untouched by the rules of gravity.
The first beast struck, a serpent-bodied grotesque with too many limbs and eyes weeping ichor, its maw yawning open to devour him mid-air.
Reynold pivoted mid-leap, left foot skimming the surface of a floating stone slab.
